Fuzzy Mind

I don’t know where this will end up. I just feel I need to type. To start, it’s too hot in here. I believe I shall open a window. Damn. The window’s already open, and I’m still horrendously hot. My brain ain’t feeling so hot, either. I don’t know what it is, but lately, and especially this week, I just haven’t been thinking right. I don’t know why. It just feels fuzzy, somehow. Like I can’t quite grasp reality as it should be and see it for what it is. Most disturbingly is an overwhelming sense of apathy injected into pretty much every corner of my life. In my gut I don’t care about school, work, my church calling, my relations with others; I probably wouldn’t even feel like eating if it weren’t for hunger. I have to work to live, and I have to eat to live, but pretty much everything else is backseated. Is that a word? Backseated? I have a new roommate who always calls me on my little quirks, and sometimes I want to rip his face off and feed it to lions. Lions, lyin’ around. Yep. It’s the mane thing they do. blah! To heck with heck! I heck your heckiest burping bottle of rabies. Randomness. Random your mom! OK, it’s digressing time again for Jeffery, apparently. Like I said, it’s just words. Nothing. Nothing at all. Can a man go down and become a normal individual, or must he conform to societal pressures? What societal pressures? Can things be the way they should? Can I be able to think correctly? Even here, sitting, typing this, my head tilts, my mind slips in and out of awareness of what I’m really typing. Colors fade. Not really. The music fades in and out. What can the music fading mean? Is it just exhaustion? Exhaustion from what? I haven’t been working especially hard at anything this week. In fact, on Monday, I had a very nice time with a Spanish girl who happens to live in this ward and is someone that I haven’t decided yet whether I have a crush on her or not. It’s a tough decision when your heart feels like it’s made of lead because you don’t want it broken. It’s like that C.S. Lewis quote that I have on my Facebook. Page. I’m not even looking at the screen, but I will spellcheck this mess, just so it makes sense, spelling-wise. Not Tori Spelling-wise though. That would be sillier than a garbage truck filled with rabid dogs and Josh. Can you feel it, now? Oniris Cristal! Wow, this is awkward. Spiraling downward, in a twisted barrage of colors. That’s not what it is. Just fog. My mind is fog. I try to break through, but it’s fog. I must concentrate to really have an effect on the world around me. Will I go quietly into the night? Where’s the resolve? Where’s the reason for getting up in the morning? Isn’t the gospel supposed to provide that? It isn’t really at the moment. I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel like it’s completely my fault. I’m ultimately responsible for all my own actions. Why, then do I feel like I’m dragging my entire inert frame through molasses and mud every time I have to do something that requires the least bit of thought and effort? Why does it require every single bit of willpower I have in me just to roll out of bed at the proper time? Indeed, the improper time? I can’t even get out of bed until 9:00 PM. That’s not true at all; I’m out of bed by 10:00, but that’s skipping classes already. Not good, especially since one of the classes is the Class from Hell that is Music 301 starring the one guy from What’s Up, Doc? that has rocks. Bored, indifferent, and looking through fog. Sometimes I’m even in class, taking notes, and I get up afterward and realize I took maybe four or five lines of notes and can’t remember what the damn class was about. Then I take an insanely difficult test. I didn’t buy the books for the course because I cannot afford them. I’m getting deeper into debt and I don’t want to put out my mother anymore than I have by having her pay tution. My job is fortunately simple enough to do without a great deal of cognizance. What the world is going on? Is it just my imagination? Can that be possible? Is it just me being too damn damn lazy, or is it something else that’s going on? Why all this week? Why? Darboe, tell me why! Gegegegegehm! Words! Are ! Like! A Dollar Sign$%! Electric Highway, I fall over, slowly slipping out. But I can’t rest. I can’t rest. too much not being able to rest. Can rest? Dogs can rest? Can the guy who’s in my pants rest? What? Not intermittent, nor referential, just simply a redo button that happens to rest. Rest. Arrested your ghostly form from the underdark and the ghostly ghostlin ghossamer. Sam Cardon. Tyler Moore. Brandon Miur. Amanda Hawks. Wendy Ricks. And Jessica Sharp. Letters, can they mean more than Romans mean them to mean, I mean, they mean what they mean to your mean mean man. Got milk? Forget yourself and to go work! I can’t go to work! MY FOG CAN’T HELP! WHAT?!? Take me away, on electric wings, to find my bears and my dog-thing. Take me to Mario’s house, take me to the control center on the hill, take me to Elder Keller to smash away at the thoughts that I can’t have. Smash them.

Steve just came in and brought me back to reality. I think I’ll wrap this up.